Virgin River. Robyn Carr

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СКАЧАТЬ and Preacher—we can whip up some good food, sometimes. Preacher has a real gift. And he wasn’t a cook until he got up here.”

      She took another bite. Apparently Jack was going to stand there through her meal and watch her devour every bite. “So,” she said, “what’s the story on the doctor and Mrs. McCrea?”

      “Well, let’s see,” he said, leaning his back on the counter behind the bar, his arms wide, big hands braced on either side of him. “They tend to bicker. Two opinionated, stubborn old farts who can’t agree on anything. The fact of the matter is, I think Doc could use help—but I imagine you gathered he’s a bit on the obstinate side.”

      She made an affirmative noise, her mouth full of the most wonderful eggs she’d ever eaten.

      “The thing about this little town is—sometimes days go by without anyone needing medical attention. Then there will be weeks when everyone needs to see Doc— a flu going around while three women are about to give birth, and right then someone will fall off a horse or roof. So it goes. And although he doesn’t like to admit it, he is seventy.” Jack gave a shrug. “Next town doctor is at least a half hour away and for rural people out on farms and ranches, over an hour. The hospital is farther yet. Then, we have to think about what will happen when Doc dies, which hopefully won’t be too soon.”

      She swallowed and took a drink of water. “Why has Mrs. McCrea taken on this project?” she asked. “Is she really trying to replace him, as he says?”

      “Nah. But because of his age, it’s about time for some kind of protégé, I would think. Hope’s husband left her enough so she’ll be comfortable—she’s been widowed a long time now, I gather. And she seems to do whatever she can to keep the town together. She’s also looking for a preacher, a town cop and a schoolteacher, grades one through eight, so the little ones don’t have to bus two towns over. She hasn’t had much success.”

      “Doctor Mullins doesn’t seem to appreciate her efforts,” Mel said, blotting her lips with the napkin.

      “He’s territorial. He’s in no way ready for retirement. Maybe he’s worried that someone will show up and take over, leaving him with nothing to do. Man like Doc, never married and in service to a town all his life, would balk at that. But… see… There was an incident a few years ago, just before I got here. Two emergencies at the same time. A truck went off the road and the driver was critically injured, and a kid with a bad case of flu that turned to pneumonia stopped breathing. Doc stopped the bleeding on the truck driver, but by the time he got across the river to the kid, he was too late.”

      “God,” she said. “Bet that leaves some hard feelings.”

      “I don’t think anyone really blames him. He’s saved some lives in his time here. But the feeling he could use some help gets more support.” He smiled. “You’re the first one to show up.”

      “Hmm,” she said, taking a last sip of coffee. She heard the door open behind her and a couple of men walked in.

      “Harv. Ron,” Jack said. The men said hello and sat at a table by the window. Jack looked back at Mel. “What made you come up here?” he asked.

      “Burnout,” she said. “I got sick of being on a firstname basis with cops and homicide detectives.”

      “Jesus, just what kind of work did you do?”

      “Ever been to war?” she asked.

      “As a matter of fact,” he replied with a nod.

      “Well, big-city hospitals and trauma centers get like that. I spent years in the emergency room in downtown L.A. while I was doing my post-grad work to become a family nurse practitioner, and there were days it felt like a battle zone. Felons transported to E.R. after incurring injuries during arrest—people who were still so out of control and impossible to subdue that three or four cops had to hold them down while one of the nurses tried to start an IV. Addicts with so much junk in them, three hits with an officer’s Taser wouldn’t even slow ‘em down, much less a dose of Narcan. O.D.s, victims of violent crimes and, given it was the biggest trauma center in L.A., some of the ugliest MVAs and GSWs… Sorry. Motor vehicle accidents and gunshot wounds. And crazy people with no supervision, nowhere to go, off their meds and… Don’t get me wrong, we did some good work. Excellent work. I’m real proud of what we got done. Best staff in, maybe, America.”

      She gazed off for a second, thinking. The environment was wild and chaotic, yet while she was working with and falling in love with her husband, it was exciting and fulfilling. She gave her head a little shake and went on.

      “I transferred out of E.R. to women’s health, which I found was what I’d been looking for. Labor and delivery. I went to work on my certification in midwifery. That turned out to be my true calling, but it wasn’t always a sweeter experience.” She laughed sadly and shook her head. “My first patient was brought in by the police and I had to fight them like a bulldog to get the cuffs off. They wanted me to deliver her while she was handcuffed to the bed.”

      He smiled. “Well, you’re in luck. I don’t think there’s a pair of handcuffs in town.”

      “It wasn’t like that every day, but it was like that often. I supervised the nurses on the L&D ward for a couple of years. The excitement and unpredictability zooped me up for a long time, but I finally hit a wall. I love women’s health, but I can’t do city medicine like that anymore. God, I need a slower pace. I’m wiped out.”

      “That’s an awful lot of adrenaline to leave behind,” he said.

      “Yeah, I’ve been accused of being an adrenaline junky. Emergency nurses often are.” She smiled at him. “I’m trying to quit.”

      “Ever live in a small town?” he asked, refilling her coffee.

      She shook her head. “Smallest town I’ve ever lived in had at least a million people in it. I grew up in Seattle and went to Southern California for college.”

      “Small towns can be nice. And they can have their own brand of drama. And danger.”

      “Like?” she asked, sipping.

      “Flood. Fire. Wildlife. Hunters who don’t follow the rules. The occasional criminal. Lotta pot growers out here, but not in Virgin River that I know of. Humboldt Homegrown, it’s called around here. They’re a tight-knit group and usually keep to themselves—don’t want to draw attention. Once in a while, though, there’ll be crime associated with drugs.” He grinned. “But you never had any of that in the city, right?”

      “When I was looking for change, I shouldn’t have made such a drastic one. This is kind of like going cold turkey. I might have to downsize a little more gradually. Maybe try out a town with a couple hundred thousand people and a Starbucks.”

      “You aren’t going to tell me Starbucks can beat that coffee you’re drinking,” he said, nodding at her cup.

      She gave a short laugh. “Coffee’s great.” She favored him with a pleasant smile, deciding that this guy was okay. “I should’ve considered the roads. To think I left the terror of Los Angeles freeways for the heart-stopping curves and cliffs in these hills… Whew.” A tremor ran through her. “If I did stay in a place like this, it would be for your food.”

      He leaned toward her, bracing hands on the bar. Rich brown eyes glowed warm СКАЧАТЬ